Page 106 of Love Lessons
“But you’re a busy guy who’s playing a preseason game against Boston on the third. He’ll watch the game, and you can meet him at the stadium.”
“All right.” I clear my throat. “Love to have you there, if you’re so inclined.”
He grins.
“Am I better at asking for help now? Do I win a prize?”
“Yup.” He reaches into a shopping bag at his feet, grabs a jersey, and tosses it to me.
“What’s this?” It’s a regulation jersey—the kind we always wear—in our color which is officially called eggplant, but it’s just purple. CRIKEY is on the back in white block letters, same as always.
But then I spot the C on the arm patch.
C for captain.
“What the…” I look up at Patrick in shock. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“No, man.” My friend shakes his head. “Do you want it, though? With you, it’s damn hard to tell. Gave you like ten chances to tell me. But you didn’t say a peep.”
I look down at that patch on the arm, and I’ll be damned, but it looks exactly right. “Idowant it,” I say before I even have time to think. “Yeah. I can do this.”
“Of course, you can. I never had any doubt. But it sure wasn’t easy getting you to say it. So I brought a visual.”
I laugh awkwardly. “Dude, I didn’t know it was the kind of job you could apply for. I wasn’t going to put myself first.”
“Right,” he says, sounding exasperated. “That’s why it’s your job. You’ve always been a rock in the river, Crikey. Sure, last year threw you for a loop. But that just gives you more perspective. You have a lot of history with this team. The guys trust you. You’ve seen it all. And if you’re willing to put in the work and make those tough decisions sometimes, it should be you. I choose you.”
Well, fuck. My eyes are weirdly hot, and my face is getting red. I grab my coffee and take a big slug. Then I realize I have an important question. “Wait, is management on board with this?”
“Totally,” he says. “Why do you think they crawled up your ass all summer to burnish your reputation? Because they knew this was coming, and they hoped you’d look the part.”
“Oh,” I say stupidly. “That makes so much more sense now.”
O’Doul laughs. Then he takes the jersey from my hands and drops it into the bag, and I realize it’s because we have company.
“Hey, guys,” Leo Trevi says. “How was the summer?”
“Enlightening,” I say as we both stand up to slap him on the back.
“Crikey got a new girlfriend,” O’Doul says. “And I think she’s a keeper, so now you can all tease him about having to go home at a reasonable hour or needing to call the little woman from the road.”
“Oh, Mr. Perpetually Single finally admitted he has a girlfriend?” Castro asks. “What a huge shock, seeing as he spent the whole summer following her around like a puppy.”
“Another one bites the dust,” says Silas, our goalie, who’s claiming a seat against the wall.
The room fills quickly with hockey players. It’s not even eight o’clock, but there’s so much energy in here. So much promise.
I feel it like a buzz inside my veins—that preseason excitement. It’s a welcome sensation. I’ve been worried. I thought the optimism and excitement I’ve always had for the start of hockey season might have deserted me.
But no. It grows with every guy who pushes into the room, until they’re taking up all the chairs, covering the window seats, and leaning against the walls.
When the room is full to bursting, the team owner arrives. Rebecca Rowley Kattenberger strolls in, her one year old daughter, Anna, on her hip. “Greetings, boys! Hope you had a great summer, and you’re ready to work your hindquarters off.”
She gives me a secretive smile and perches on a chair that one of my teammates hastens to free up for her.
O’Doul claps his hands, bringing the meeting to order. “Morning, team. I guess this is my last time addressing you as your captain. But you can still kiss my—” He glances toward the toddler and checks his language. “—Hindquarters, if you feel like it, since I’m not leaving the neighborhood.”
The room echoes with laughter and applause and more than one whistle.
